


The Restless Dead

by villainsarebetter (darkling59)



Series: Monster Month [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst and Tragedy, Dark, Dementors, Harry Potter Fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7270774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkling59/pseuds/villainsarebetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one knows where dementors came from. Perhaps that is a good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Restless Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Rumbelle HP fusion fic that was prompted during Monster Month while I was still writing the ‘base’ fics. I finished it at that time but never got around to posting it on AO3...mainly because it’s really dark and sad, and I actually hesitate to call it Rumbelle even though both characters are present.
> 
> Please heed the warnings and tags.

  _ **The Restless Dead** _

**Prompt:** @Anonymous Harry potter fusion with either Rumple or Belle as a Dementor

**Warnings:** Character death, tragedy, **very dark**

* * *

> _“Hey, ‘Stiltskin, you work at the ministry, right? As a groundskeeper or something?”_
> 
> _"W-What?”_
> 
> _“Yeah, look, I need you to help me with something.”_
> 
> _“With what?”_
> 
> _“I need you to steal the minister’s records on muggleborns.”_
> 
> _“W-what?! No!”_
> 
> _“See, I wasn’t ‘asking’. **Imperio**!”_

* * *

There was no clear consensus in the wizarding world as to the precise nature of dementors. They were terrifying, they were useful as guards, and they were monsters – that was all the information that the wizarding community could  agree on. But where they came from, what species they were, what they looked like under their cloaks? Where their cloaks came from, and even if they were cloaks at all since every dementor came with one? No one even knew how they came into being - they simply appeared – no mating behavior or reproduction, just every once in a while there was a new fully grown dementor noticed among its fellows at Azkaban.

The true horror of their existence was not something any wizard would be able to handle.

Because, in reality, dementors were _wraiths_. Echoes, ghosts, twisted remnants of human lives long lost. They were incomparable to normal ghosts such as the harmless specters guarding Hogwarts; these were twisted by dark magic, tortured in life and death, all will and soul drained form their physical forms, each one as empty as a human who’d undergone a dementor’s kiss.

Essentially, they were spirits that had their souls and free will – their very humanity - ripped away, leaving an empty, aching, _hungry_ shell behind.

They were the men and women who had been destroyed by unforgivable curses.

These days, wizards barely remembered why the curses were ‘unforgivable’, beyond the horrific moral implications and prison sentence that would result from their use. But once, in ages long past, they’d known far more.

Behind each cloak, the dementors do not look alike. Oh, they all have a mouth – they all need a mouth, to perform the kiss, to steal a soul, to fill that horrible aching _nothing_ within – but the rest depends on how each particular dementor died and what they have clung to from their once-humanity.

Some have filmy eyes, some have teeth, some have scars, some even have the bare traces of washed out tattoos – all hidden by a tattered cloak. None of the features are functional; they operate on a spiritual level like every ghost or wraith,and their appearance depends on how the spirit perceives itself. That is why so many  dementors lose anything to mark themselves apart other than the gaping mouth they need for survival.

* * *

> _“Is it done?”_
> 
> _“Yes. Every last muggle born has been…dealt with.”_
> 
> _“Good. And you’re sure you weren’t detected?”_
> 
> _“What, you think I was stupid enough to do it myself? I used a puppet. See?”_
> 
> _“Ah. Imperio. You’re lucky no one realized he was acting strange. What will you do with him now?”_
> 
> _“Get rid of him. Unless you need a Ministry lackey for something?”_
> 
> _“No, he’s too weak and lowborn to be useful.”_
> 
> _“That’s what I thought too.”_
> 
> _**“Please…”** _
> 
> _“Heh! Look at that. Guess he’s stronger than you thought!”_
> 
> _“Won’t do him any good. He’s worthless.”_
> 
> _**“Please…my son needs me…I must-.”** _
> 
> _“Avada Kedavra!”_

* * *

There was one particular dementor that haunted the halls of Azkaban with perhaps a bit more individuality than his nigh-demonic brethren. No one knew, of course, that he was different – not even him.

But the fact remained – he identified as _male_ , a distinguishing feature and an inkling of personality that most dementors did not have. When he glided through the gloomy corridors of Azkaban, no thoughts crossed his nonexistent mind…not worry, hate, love, nor fear, just the everlasting emptiness and the need to feed, to fill the gaping nothing inside and finally find relief.

But sometimes…

Sometimes remnants of his past bled through.

A slight hesitation to approach when children mourned imprisoned parents.

A tendency to avoid rather than confront when a criminal wept bitter tears and cried for mercy.

The inclination to pause at the doorway, staring at the exit without consciously knowing there _was_ an exit, or indeed anything to exit _from_.

No one ever noticed. He was one of many to the wizards and as good as nonexistent to his brethren.

And then, after one, two, ten, perhaps a hundred years, something changed.

Dementors were called to guard Hogwarts.

After everything predictably went wrong and the different dementor, nameless but unique, hovered in place, he looked with eyes that were not eyes at a human woman - a witch - crouched below, seeing the brightness inside of her that called to the aching horror within him. A brightness that was only dwarfed by the beast of light and the shield she powered from her wand. Seeing her and her beast…he paused.

Even as the shield faded and fell, her beast of light flickered to nothing, and he descended to perch over her quivering, insensate form, the fear that followed him like a miasma overcoming her defenses, he paused.

The light within her could fill his darkness, he knew on pure instinct. It was what every dementor wanted, _needed_.

But…

She’d been protecting children. A last guard. Even now, he could sense the tiny flickering lights of the children’s’ souls, knew they would be as suitable to feed upon, if he caught them.

He did not move from the woman laying in a shaking, terrified heap at the foot of his robes, because when he saw her; her bravery, her dedication, her self-sacrificial love for the children; something _changed_.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, a name came to his mind.

**_“Baelfire.”_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!
> 
> (Also, I'll probably have the Erlking fic up tonight - it's been a rough day for writing and posting.)


End file.
